


it’s a one-time thing every time

by hypotheticallymortal



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, the smut tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 01:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14843255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypotheticallymortal/pseuds/hypotheticallymortal
Summary: A one-time thing repeated several times over the course of a few years, on purpose, might have made Emma think it was okay to let Killian Jones, naval officer, into her life for a few nights, but barely did she know her life could be a little messier than she had expected.





	it’s a one-time thing every time

**Author's Note:**

> been planning on doing something along these lines for a while, but only did I now show the energy and disposition to actually write something about it.

Four years. Four years had Emma known Killian Jones, and sixteen times had they had sex. ‘Sixteen times?, one might ask. ‘Did Emma _count_?’ Emma did indeed count, but only because her encounters with him had been memorable enough for her to feel that need.

Around three to four times a year, Killian visited Boston — ‘visited’, however, not being the best word for it: it was more like ‘assigned for duty’. The dashing naval officer that first walked into the bar Emma worked at captured her eyes the minute he stepped in, but the easy conversation and his lilting accent grabbed her by the guts and brought warmth to every inch of her body — including that one that burned _right_ below the navel.

By the end of that first night, she had already been pressed against a wall, pinned against a door and splayed beneath him on the bed of his hotel room. Before the sun was even up, she had already been out the door with a satisfied glint to her eyes: it had been _good_ , but no matter how agreeable and pleasant (and pleasurable, god _damn_ ) the guy had been, she could definitely not bring herself to stay the night. The intimacy that was doomed to take over their interactions in the morning was scary enough for her to silently slip on her clothes and out the door.

She’d been keen on the idea that it would have been the first and last time she’d ever see the man, but no less than four months later, there he had been again. After he’d explained to her his situation, she’d brought herself to a surprisingly reckless state of mind, the only thought in her head about the subject staying within the lines of ‘ _can’t hurt to have a little fun every now and then_ ’.

With that silent agreement floating clearly between them, they entered a comfortable regime of what could be called _surprise booty calls_ : every time he’d come into town, he’d stride into her bar at night without warning her beforehand, and they’d leave together for some assured good time after her shift was ended. It all seemed impersonal enough for Emma to let go of her fears of developing feelings for him, since it was such a cold scheme, laid out merely with the purpose of fulfilling their carnal needs. Sure, he was a nice guy to talk to, and of course she was attracted to him, but a simple reminder of the status of their current relationship was enough a bucket of cold water for her not to think too much about it. About his lingering touches and soft looks, in the darkness of a strange room none of them had ever been before.

Her friends didn’t know about it. Mary Margaret, however, had always had a way of knowing when there was a shift in Emma’s mood, and did manage to pinpoint exactly when she’d gotten laid, without particularly knowing that was the reason behind her current disposition. She did always seem to have an easier time in doing so when it was a morning after Killian Jones.

 

—

 

“So, when are you seeing him again?”

The question came as a surprise to Emma, and blinking her eyes into focus again, she frowned at Ruby. “Who?”

“The wizard that made you giddy last night,” her friend said matter-of-factly.

Emma was perfectly aware of the heat travelling up her face, but, straightening her spine, put a good effort into not letting it show. “How would you know anything of the sorts happened to me?”

“You’re constantly spacing out this morning,” the red-lipped waitress clarified from behind the clean breakfast bar, leaning onto her elbows on the counter that separated them. “You never space out. And sometimes you’ve got a dumb little smile on your face, and you’re Tough-Nut Emma Swan.”

She couldn’t respond to that, so she settled for stirring the now cold hot chocolate.

Ruby squealed lowly for decorum purposes, but rested her chin on her fists like a child getting ready for an exciting story. “Pray tell.”

Emma only shrugged, perfectly aware she could only lie to Ruby to a certain point. “Nothin’ to tell.”

“Oh, please, Emma. You’re so transparent.” The blonde threw her the most skeptical glare she could muster. “Okay, fine, you’re a solid brick wall, but you’re a _terrible_ liar.”

“I don’t know what to say to you, Ruby.”

“Start with a name.”

“Do I have to?”

“Well, now that you confirmed it happened, you have no damn choice, babe.”

Sighing in defeated agreement, Emma crossed her arms, bracing herself for some sharing she hadn’t planned on doing. “Can’t give you names.”

“ _Fiiine_. What was he like, then?” Ruby was excited alright, but the sheer interest she was showing was enough to pry answers from Emma.

“He was... nice.”

“Nice? _Please_.”

“Very attractive.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘hot as hell’.”

“Good conversation.”

“Emma Swan, if I ask for details on the hot guy you slept with last night, don’t you _dare_ bore me with ‘good conversation’.”

“It was very good.”

“Now we’re talking.”

Emma considered ratting out on herself for a moment, admitting she’d been sleeping with the hot guy sporadically over the last four years. But she wasn’t ready for that level of confession, no matter how long she’d known Ruby for.

So she got up from her seat. “Enough said, though.”

Her friend looked as though Emma had just confiscated candy from her. “What? No.”

She left the money for the cocoa on the counter. “Gotta go.”

“Emma—“

She pretended to check her non existent wrist watch. “Jeez, I’m gonna be late for work.”

“You work the night shift.”

“ _Bye_.”

“It’s ten in the morning!”

 

—

 

After she’d received David’s text, she felt like she couldn’t really do anything other than slightly panic.

_MM just went into labour. Doc said it should be quick enough, so if you wanna meet your godson asap, i’d tell you to run._

David and Mary Margaret were the closest thing she’d ever had to a family as an adult. With the latter taking her in as a roommate right after she’d left college, she’d felt like an intruder to their little family-like life style since the beginning. She was the maid of honour at their wedding and their ever present pregnancy assistant — with David working as a deputy sheriff at the BPD, Emma was the closest aid to Mary Margaret for any baby-carrying needs. So when they asked her to be the godmother of their child, it didn’t really come as much of a surprise (it didn’t stop Emma from tearing up and feeling as though it were a hundred percent unexpected at that moment).

And now there the baby was. _Coming_. And she was at home getting ready for work. _Goddamn, there are priorities_.

In less than five minutes, she’d changed, called her boss, negotiated an extra shift Saturday afternoon and made herself a cup of hot cocoa with the purpose of calming the fuck down.

It wasn’t her kid. But God, she felt like that baby was going to matter so much for her?

 _Enough thinking_.

Out the door she went, phone in hand, looking dishevelled as she was. She took a cab to the hospital — God forbid her paying those absurd parking fees — and hurried up and down the halls until she found Mary Margaret’s room. Sure enough, when she knocked, there her friend was, in her her contraction-filled glory, face contorted into one of the purest expressions of pain Emma had ever seen.

“EMMA!” The call had a relieved tone, but it was hard for someone to spot that in labour. “I’M SO GLAD YOU’RE HERE!”

“Good lord,” she heard David mutter, his hand clamped by his wife’s. “That was a strong one, honey.”

Mary Margaret only nodded forcefully, and slumped against the pillows behind her, panting as if she’d just run a marathon. “Emma,” the brunette said, much calmer now, “Glad you could make it before the little one.”

“Me too,” Emma replied, taking that as safe words for approach. Settling beside the bed, she rested her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You’re doing great.”

“Ugh, don’t start.” That was a surprising response, given Emma believed positivity and optimism would be the high mood in the room since Mary Margaret was the person in question. “David’s been pampering me with good vibes only since my first contraction.”

“What? No, I haven’t!” Her husband looked almost offended, but Emma could see he was guilty.

“I am not in the mood for good vibes now since my uterus seems to not be a cozy home for my fetus anymore,” she continued. Huffing out a dry laugh, she patted David on the shoulder. “Oh, honey, you’re gonna suffer for the next few hours.”

The three of them chuckled together, and were left to comfortable silence as they awaited the next contraction. It was broken before the expected by Mary Margaret.

“Oh, Emma, Ruby’s in the hospital too, can you go get her?”

“Ruby’s in the hospital? Why?”

“Apparently, she’s visiting an old friend of hers, and happened to be here when we arrived. She doesn’t know I went into labour though, I just know she’s in because she texted me earlier.”

“So be careful?,” Emma supposed.

“Precisely. Don’t let her kill you out of desperation.”

With a nod of her head and a quick goodbye, she set out to find her friend.

Turns out a hospital turns into an impossible maze as soon as you admit to yourself you’re in a hurry. Emma took fifteen minutes to find the cafeteria — and following the signs, mind you, so maybe she was feeling a little confused in general — and resigned to calmly strolling around the halls in the hopes of bumping into Ruby.

In her quest, she couldn’t keep herself from peering into the occupied rooms. She adored not knowing who people were, giving her mind full freedom to wander and create backgrounds to the nameless patients and relatives. She was lucky it was still visiting hours. She started connecting imaginary dots as if they were obvious.

Room 2045, Albert, his wife and three grandkids. Albert, short, gray haired, kind of on the chubby side. Fell down the stairs after stepping on cat poo.

Room 2051, Helen and her wife. Helen, tall and slim, bright ginger, fresh out of an appendectomy.

Room 2053, Marcus. Marcus, dark hair, blue eyes. Marcus was alone. Marcus seemed familiar. Stubble, tousled locks. An old scar under his right eye mixing with the fresh ones all around his face. _Holy shit_.

 _Marcus my ass_. That was Killian. Killian Jones, naval officer, _her_ Killian.

Not _her_ Killian. _Shut up, Emma._

What had happened? Why was he hurt? Why was he still there? Why did Emma feel like her stomach suddenly weighed twenty pounds?

He was staring at the TV on the wall opposite to the bed, and Emma hurried to leave his possible line of sight. From the other end of the window, she could see his left arm was covered with bandages, but other than that he seemed fine — a couple scratches here and there, but nothing too extreme.

With a whispered string of curses, she resumed her search, definitely a lot less focused now. To her luck, the next lounge area was where it ended, and her objective was making herself a cup of coffee out of the machine in the corner.

“Ruby! Finally,” she added, mostly to herself.

“Emma? What are you doing here?,” Ruby asked, turning around cheerfully; but then, almost as if she had just realised where they were, she frowned. “Did something happen?”

“Mary Margaret went into labour.”

“WHAT?!”

“Yup, she’s poppin’ that baby out in no time.”

“Aww,” Ruby cooed, and stepped closer to Emma. “She’s gonna be so happy once he’s out of her.”

Emma chuckled, momentarily forgetting the disturbing view of him in that hospital bed. “Definitely. Oh, and she told me you were here for an old friend?”

Ruby sighed, mood suddenly turned darker. “Yeah. Poor guy...”

“Is it too bad?”

“He’s fine, but he... Well, he got in a pretty bad car accident this morning and I’m the only person he knows in Boston, so they called me. He was awake the whole time, which is why they managed to reach me, but...,” she rubbed her forehead, “his hand got crushed pretty badly by the car, so he’s devastated.”

Emma knew herself. She knew she had a knack for overthinking and overanalysing, and that most of the conclusions she tends to come up with in those moments are wrong; but the back of her brain was burning with the new evidence that piled up. His left arm was bandaged, and he told her he would be leaving for the harbour in the morning. Ruby was the only person he knew in Boston, since he was all over the place all the time and never settled there.

“That’s terrible,” she managed to croak out, her mind racing. She was almost afraid to ask, but she knew she had to if she even wanted to sleep that night. “Um... what’s his name?”

“It’s Killian.”

 

—

 

She had convinced Ruby to go see Mary Margaret alone, with the excuse of wanting to go to the bathroom and that she would eventually catch up with her. She did find a toilet and indeed locked herself inside, but only to stare at the mirror and wash her face with some cold water to boost her brain into thinking mode.

Should she go see him? She had told herself for four years he was nothing but a recurring sporadic fling, a one-time thing every time; but the way her heart sunk when she saw him, the way her week was always better after a night with him... She would often find herself thinking about him in the middle of her sleepless nights, expecting him to walk through the bar’s door and rescue her from her mundane routine as a bartender to give her a good, good night. She had had other hookups and flings, but none seemed to stick with her as long as he had. Maybe because she knew he would one day come back for her.

It was definitely the steadiest and longest relationship of some sorts Emma had had in her entire life. It wasn’t ideal, and shit, did she sometimes hope it was.

She sometimes caught herself imagining an unreachable future, and a man she insisted to herself was faceless made her breakfast after a night of pleasurable action, kissed her goodbye, weaved his fingers through her hair and comforted her when she needed. She could swear the man smelled like the sea, but she was incisive enough to convince herself it was impossible to smell things in dreams. Of course she was.

But Killian smelled like the sea. And Killian was probably the sort of guy who would make her breakfast after a night of action, kiss her softly and play with her hair. And she would always deny that.

Damn it. She was going to see him.

Collecting her wits, she shook her head to snap out of her reverie. She felt like sterling herself for battle, but she only wanted to see how he was. Because now she saw that, whether she liked it or not, she cared about Killian Jones.

For a moment or two, Mary Margaret visited her thoughts, almost guilting her for forgetting her prime reason for having come to the hospital, but she shooed the thought away. She had to do this.

Stepping out of the restroom as if going to war next, she clearly envisioned the room number: 2053. Determined and maybe slightly derailed, she marched down the halls and stared at that room number from afar.

The door was opened, but she knocked either way. She braced herself for a predictable amount of emotion she was not used to feeling.

He peeled his eyes off the TV slowly, and took a few seconds to register who it was. He didn’t say anything, and she chose to believe, just for a minute, that it definitely had something to do with the meds they were giving him.

Killian Jones, in front of her. She felt like a buffoon standing idly at the door, not knowing what else she could do until he reacted properly.

He blinked a couple times, and she could see his breath hitching. “Emma?” Maybe he was just glad to see a familiar face, no matter who it was.

Damn it, she had been with him the previous night, but it felt like months again. “Hey.”

For a full twelve seconds, they just stared at each other, frozen. Emma was afraid he could hear her heart beating. Somewhere deep inside her mind, the thought he could maybe feel the same for her graced her, and her stomach flipped slightly.

He broke the silence when he also broke eye contact, only to look around for a second and then right back at her. “What are you doing here?” He did seem to have a hopeful glint to his eye. Maybe she was just imagining it.

“My friend went into labour,” she explained, a bit out of breath. “Then I saw you and I just—“

“Had to see me?,” he asked, that now familiar smugness peeking out through his eyes.

She huffed our a short laugh. “Yeah, kind of.”

It was weird seeing him under the bright white fluorescents, looking so weak. She was used to the warm dim lights of the bar, to his shameless flirting and ease, then no lights at all and peaking badassness. She also wasn’t used to standing in front of him so transparent, so real.

“Can I come in?,” she asked softly, already knowing the answer.

“Always, love.”

When she sat on the chair right next to the bed — probably where Ruby had been seated — and looked at him from up close, her heartstrings tugged a bit more at the sight of his bruised face.

“How are you?”

She almost laughed in disbelief. He was asking her how she was? “You’re in the hospital bed, I think I would ask you the same.”

“I asked first, darling; nothing more than conversational manners.”

“I am _fine_ ,” she replied, a small smile she didn’t even detect seeping from behind her defensive lines. “How about you?” She fought the sudden urge to touch him somehow: being so close to him in such a foreign environment made her feel uneasy.

He sighed, all humour fading from his eyes, and she couldn’t blame him. “I’m coping. I, er, got into a car accident—“

“Don’t worry about it, I already know the story,” she interrupted him, strongly believing he probably didn’t feel comfortable reliving those terrible moments.

He was immediately wary. “Do you?”

“Ruby’s a close friend of mine,” she explained quickly, leaning forward a bit to keep the volume of their conversation low enough to make her feel like they’re back in the bar, drowned the light buzz of late night. “I was actually trying to find her to tell her about our friend going into labour. And she told me she was in visiting a friend, and I just connected the dots.”

“Ever so clever, eh, Swan,” he observed, an eyebrow hitching up.

She smirked momentarily, but ended up dropping it in a second. “I’m sorry about your hand.”

He flashed her a smile that never reached his eyes. “No hand left to feel sorry about, love.”

“I’m serious, Killian,” she tilted her head, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. No matter how wrecked he felt, those eyes of his were still bright enough to make her gut wrench. “And you’re gonna be fine.”

“Will I?” His question sounded so genuine and innocent, she felt like he was asking as if it depended on her. “I can’t be in the Navy anymore: injury discharge. I have nowhere to go.”

“Stay in Boston, Ruby will help you,” she proposed, but deep within that request was a clear-as-day spark of hope.

“Only Ruby, lass?” Killian looked up at her, with such a truthful glow she couldn’t even look away.

“I could too,” she whispered, almost afraid he wouldn’t hear it. But he did.

“That would be lovely,” he replied in the same tone.

Despite their sporadic encounters, Emma felt as though she and Killian had been friends the whole time, who had only slipped in a couple occasions and hooked up. She felt comfortable around him, and she was sure she would never be around other men she had only slept with. It was different with him, and she had to stop denying it. Her refusal to believe it had no base now, not with how much she reckoned she obviously cared for him; and, judging by the look he kept giving her, something told her his feelings weren’t much different.

They’d shared a lot about each other to each other, their faith in the lack of connections he had in town a good reason to throw caution to the wind and pour their hearts out with no regrets. He knew about Neal, she knew about Milah. He once touched the subject of his brother and she knew something bad happened, but he never got to the part he actually said what it was. They knew they were orphans. He even knew about the big Emma drove around, and made sure to mock the ‘ _old yellow beast_ ’ every time he visited.

For the first time in a long time, she officially put a face on the man in her daydreams. She just didn’t tell him about it.

 

—

 

Emma didn’t have to turn around to know the voice that sounded belonged to a certain retired naval officer. She smiled immediately, but made sure to wipe it from her face before she turned around not to give him the satisfaction.

“Evening, milady,” he greeted, forearms on the bar. She didn’t let her gaze linger on the bandaged stump, knowing it bothered him.

“What can I get you tonight, stranger?,” she played along, already planting a glass in front of him and selecting his usual choice of rum. He got in later than he usually did, relatively close to the end of her shift

“I believe I don’t need to answer that, love.”

It had been about a month since the car accident. He had found an apartment in the city and was already settling in, but he seemed to make an effort to pop by the bar every day since he was out of the antibiotics. Sometimes he would bring Ruby along, and Emma would always kick herself for never telling her friend about what happened between the two of them. She still didn’t know.

As to that, ever since Killian settled in town, they hadn’t mentioned their previous affairs. Not in conversation or in action. They treated each other like friends at best, but the way they choose to treat each other doesn’t necessarily match the way they actually feel.

Emma felt dizzy sometimes when she leaned in too close to him, the memories of his lips against hers, his scruff marking her neck and other places, all mixing in with his scent, his breath, his looks. Sometimes she felt the urge to pounce at him like nothing less than a cat and ravish him right there, but she knew she couldn’t. _Not yet, at least_ , she pretended not to think.

Not yet indeed.

“So, love, when do you have some good old free time?”

She blinked at him, not really knowing how to properly react to that. “Weekends are pretty common for free time, y’know?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, a smirk stretching his lips in the most absurd way. “Are you free tonight?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it is already ‘tonight’,” she pointedly put, grabbing a cold beer from the fridge beneath the bar and serving it to the patron right next to Killian.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know what I mean, lass,” he purred, head tilting as his eyelids dropped a bit.

The warmth that had been slowly travelling up her neck suddenly fell through her body, landing somewhere beneath her stomach. Her heart seemed to skip a beat. It was the first time they talked about anything along the lines of their shared sex life. “Yeah,” she croaked out, and cleared her throat. He seemed satisfied to know his gift of making her crumble under his tone of voice and choice of words still worked. “Yeah, I’m free tonight, why?”

“I’d like to revisit some old habits of mine, you see,” he clarified as if it were nothing, “and I already started drinking black coffee again in the morning.” He was beating around the bush in the most ungodly way, swirling his drink in his glass as if they were talking about the weather or the latest basketball game results. “There was this really _enjoyable_ ,” he glanced at her, “night activity I used to be a part of with a very lovely woman every time I saw her. But now I’ve been seeing her every day and nothing ever happened again. Thus the revisiting.”

She didn’t have the words to play along his little game, but she could detect his effect on her before he had uttered a word. Her jeans felt uncomfortable and her shirt felt too tight. A patch of heat pressed itself against the back of her neck and she wanted nothing more than to tear off all his clothes at once and have him.

She quickly glanced at the old clock in the wall: seven to one. She had seven minutes to put off getting laid.

She quickly recomposed though, closing the gap between them and mirroring his position, resting her elbows on the wooden surface between them. He was so close she had to almost cross her eyes to gaze at his.

“I’m off in five minutes,” she murmured, and, with a deliberately obvious glance towards his mouth, she stepped back to attend the other patrons, doing her best to calm herself down. She was surprised at how not wary she was about the whole thing, how willing she knew she was.

That man had a way of making her feel as if she hadn’t had sex in years.

Five minutes later, she was saying goodbye to Will, the proud owner of the next shift, and walked out from behind the bar, looking along the counter for Killian Jones. She saw him with his back to her, quietly chatting away with a guy next to him. She approached him slowly, and was able to catch the last piece of their conversation.

“...and only _then_ should you twist that wire,” the bearded guy was saying, the woollen hat in his head crooked to the side, pairing up well with his dragged speech. “Ya don’t want those wires to fry, brother.”

Killian merely nodded, as if he’d let the man talk away for the past five minutes just to occupy his time.

Coming up from behind him, she hooked a finger through one of his belt loops and tugged slightly. “Ready?,” she purred right next to his ear, and he jumped slightly. She didn’t need to touch him to know a shiver had just travelled up his spine.

“Definitely, darling,” he assured her promptly, if not a bit desperate to leave the grumpy man’s side.

“Ooh, somebody’s gett’n _lucky_ tonight,” the man in question urged towards them, his drunken haze enough for Emma to silently forgive him for ruining their perfect mood.

She grabbed Killian by the jacket sleeve and pulled him towards the door, and made sure to switch to his right side. She knew the hand — or the lack of it — was still a sensitive subject for him, so she didn’t even want to take the risk of mentioning it in any way; not when her night just got a hundred percent better.

Throughout the month of seeing him nearly every day, Emma started recognizing how much she enjoyed his presence and how much she yearned to be close to him. For about a week now, she had already accepted she might possibly have some kind of feelings for him, maybe. Just maybe.

Who was she kidding, he was absolutely the one romantic goal in her life right now.

It was a short walk from the bar to his new place, apparently, and she refrained from grabbing his hand along the way because, believe it or not, she was still scared he didn’t feel the same she possibly did.

When they hopped into the elevator, they leaned against opposite walls, and suddenly they were staring at each other. Emma watched as his eyes grew darker, his look glassier, his hands more fidgety. She was sure she looked exactly the same.

So it came as no surprise when, around the sixth floor, four floors below his, they met half way in a heated kiss, her hands immediately hogging the lapels of his leather jacket, pulling him impossibly closer to her — just as he wrapped both of his arms around her, tugging her flush against him. She was happy no one else got in the elevator, because, in no time at all, she was pressed against the wall, able to feel every inch of his body on hers, the special pressure between her legs a highlight of it all.

When the metal box stopped climbing and a ding announced their arrival, they pulled back an inch, just enough to let them breathe each other in for a second. Before the doors closed on them, Killian opened them, and they separated. Emma could feel the loss, and felt like the only thing she wanted at that moment was for him to press her against the wall like that again. She kept that thought in mind while she followed him closely to his door. She could feel herself trembling slightly whilst he unlocked it, and was the first one to do anything about it when he closed it behind them.

Repeating her movements from the elevator, she grabbed him by the lapels again and resumed their interrupted activity. He seemed happy to do the same.

Killian took off both their jackets, discarding them somewhere along their way to the bedroom. He guided her with difficulty, since he seemed to be too distracted by her mouth against his, sucking and sliding and nipping as best as they could. As soon as the back of her knees hit the bed, she knew she had made the right choice.

When she halted her steps, his erection came into direct contact with the most sensitive area in her body at the moment, and she let out a gasp that he could do little but reproduce.

Her fumbling fingers did their best to unbutton his shirt — why couldn’t he just have worn a t-shirt like her? — and, as soon as she was done, raked through the hair sprinkled across his chest. Her nails had an effect on him, because he groaned in pleasure when she removed the shirt from his shoulders. When the left sleeve came off, he hissed lowly, and she broke their kiss.

“You okay?,” she managed to ask in all her aroused haze.

He nodded. “Aye, love, just a bit sensitive over there, is all.”

She bobbed her head in response, beginning a trail of kisses down his neck and stopping at his collarbone, nipping the skin there and soothing it with her tongue. The sounds that man uttered in the working up to the real action were enough for her to feel the wetness between her legs, her jeans feeling tighter and tighter the more times she felt his bulge against her.

He pushed her slightly, and she obliged, spreading out on the bed and tugging him down with her. Emma helped him remove her unreasonably skinny jeans and shirt, and sooner than later, there she was, half naked under his gaze and happy to be there. She undid his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, but he stopped her before she was done by bringing his hand down to where she needed him most.

“Gods, Emma,” he mused in a groan, and she replied with what she could best describe as a moany laugh.

His steady massage of her clit had her writhing beneath him, and the moment she felt all the nerves in her body explode, her vision went white with sparking stars and a loud groan. While she recomposed, he removed his pants, and returned to her slowly, his mouth working its way up her navel, between her breasts and up her neck. Killian knew what he was doing, that was for sure.

Hooking his finger through her underwear, he slid it down her legs, and kissed his way up from her knee, avoiding her heat, instead making his way around her inner thigh, her hip and just below her belly button. God, she was just hopeless.

When he left her for a few second again, she immediately felt the loss, and tugged him back to her with a protest. He chuckled lowly.

“In a moment, darling.” His lust filled voice was borderline illegal, and it sent a jolt up her spine.

After a few seconds of fumbling with the metallic plastic wrap, he was ready. Her eyes were closed as she basked in the memories all of this brung her, but then he was hovering her again and she felt his tip touch her folds. With a heavy intake of breath, she clawed his back, and he hissed — she just didn’t know if it was because of pain or pleasure. Pulling him close, she breathed out near to his ear as he pushed inside of her, letting her core adjust to the change and grounding her for a second. The moment he started to move, she felt herself climbing again. They had done it so many times already, but every one felt like a new experience, something she’d never tried before.

They kept a steady pace, not too slow, not too fast, just perfect. She took the opportunity of his position to kiss his neck, stressing over a spot right beneath his jaw, feeling every muscle of his body contracting and relaxing with the movements they matched. Her hands travelled from his upper back to the nape of his neck, then down, down, to the curve of his ass, giving it a squeeze that made him grunt next to her ear. Any roll of her hips was a cue for him to react, whether it was a hitch in his breath or a noise from his throat; all made her quiver beneath his body. He would say her name and she would be closer and closer to climaxing, and she could feel he was approaching his limit too.

Both bodies slick with a forming thin layer of sweat, they were in unison. Emma was sure even their hearts were pumping to the same beat.

Suddenly, she felt the rush of nearing her apex, and her breath was less controlled, and her movements more jerky. He quickened his pace, hips hitting her thighs faster and deeper and Jesus, she was coming. In a whirl of emotions and sensations, her whole body tingled with pleasure, and a wave of white-hot fire took her, head to toes, bringing her over the edge. She felt his breath against her neck falter, unable to hear well, and his movements stagger, a loud groan reverberating in his chest as he too reached climax.

Trembling limbs, uneven breathing and recovering senses: that was always how they found each other after both returned from the bliss of an orgasm. Killian slid out of her after about a minute, slowly kissing a pathway up her neck, making her moan one last time, and _excused_ himself to use the bathroom. Of course he would do something like that.

She stared up at the ceiling, imagining how wrecked she must be looking. Unable to move too fast, she felt as if the sex had been nothing out of the ordinary for them — just the usual out of this world experience — but the emotional weight she knows both of them detected behind their movements and their actions... That was enough to make her shiver.

This had been their first time after he had settled in Boston. The first time both of them knew there was no running away. The first one they both accepted it as it was: the start of something. Emma didn’t know what it was exactly, and was frankly too scared and tired to think about it at that moment, but it was definitely something. And this time, she was willing to explore it, because even she could admit his presence made her feel funny, and that she always felt better as soon as he hopped into the room with his pleasant conversation and his incredible good looks and his charming remarks that made her lega feel like jelly.

When he came back, he found her tucked into his new sheets, not quite asleep yet, as if waiting for him to come back to then allow herself some well deserved rest. He slid behind her underneath the covers, and hugged her from behind. Tucking his right arm under her, he carefully placed his left one over her waist, and she couldn’t bring herself to not rest her hand on his forearm, a clear signal that mean ‘ _it’s okay_ ’. His sigh seemed to be a positive response to that, and it was the last thing she remembered doing before she nodded off — for the _whole night_ , this time, knowing she could expect breakfast, soft kisses and fingers through her hair in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> the surge of inspiration came after I forced myself to watch the series finale after not having watched even an episode of season seven. I understood about 45% of everything, but that dash of captain swan near the end was a sight for sore eyes.


End file.
